


First Time For Everything (unfortunately)

by Sikeyouout



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24691891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sikeyouout/pseuds/Sikeyouout
Summary: "The sensor is designed to record pollution levels, primarily, but is also capable of reading radiation signatures. And at 6 AM yesterday morning, the sensor read an absolutely massive amount of gamma radiation. Tony’s never seen anything like it. Not even Bruce Banner’s fateful experiment yielded radiation readings this high.S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hiding something pretty important, and Tony’s going to get to the bottom of it."
Comments: 121
Kudos: 883





	1. Chapter 1

The slimy brick of an alley wall, the stench of hot garbage, the overwhelming sound of millions of people going about their lives. These are the last things Number Five notes before his head hits the pavement and his vision goes dark. 

Waking up in a soft bed is not entirely odd for Five. In the year he’s been in the apocalypse, he’s easily claimed the nicest mattresses he can find for himself. They’re always much softer than the one he had at the Academy, and once he manages to scrape the biggest chunks of rubble from the top, provide an excellent place to rest. 

The odd thing about the mattress he wakes up on today, however, is how clean it feels. 

Five hasn’t done laundry in a year. He refuses to waste water on something so trivial. A little bit of dirt on his sheets is the least of his worries. He’s so tired by the end of the day that he can hardly tell the difference between his bed and the cracked asphalt outside, let alone stop to care about small flakes of debris digging into his skin. 

Feeling soft, fresh sheets after so long feels unnatural. It highlights the other oddities he’s starting to become aware of. 

Five hears sounds that aren’t tumbling bricks or the howling of the wind through empty streets. He can hear the soft whirring of an air conditioner (and isn’t that a wild concept, feeling artificially temperate air after so long being at the mercy of the elements as the Earth’s seasons flared to extremes), a quiet dripping that he hopes desperately is drinkable water, his mouth is so dry, when was the last time he had gotten even a sip--

His train of thought is derailed by a sound he hasn’t heard in so long he honestly forgot about it. Footsteps. From other people. Five’s brain starts doing handsprings at this new information, and he races to catalogue everything around him. 

It’s a hospital room, obviously, with pastel animals painted on the walls. He’s hooked up to an IV, pumping something into his arm. The clock on the wall tells him it’s 10, the sunlight coming through the window that it’s probably 10 AM, and the English words printed on the fire alarm and next to the light switch let him narrow down that he’s likely still in North America. Where, exactly, he is isn’t nearly as important to him as when. 

Did he do it? Is he out of the Apocalypse? 

The room he’s in is still standing, which is practically undeniable evidence that he’s made it out, but Five wants to see other people. He goes to sit up, to look out the window and see signs of life, or open the door and find someone in the hallway, but his body is sluggish. He’s exhausted, he realizes, more wiped than he has been in months, not since he teleported from Alaska to Russia, and had to swim the last two miles to shore, dragging Delores with him. He’d passed out on the beach, soaked and shaking, and woke up with a fever. He hadn’t left that beach for at least a day, and then only because Delores had begged him to find shelter to recover. 

(He’s also never felt more broken than in those next few weeks, realizing he probably is the only one left on Earth. Russia took so long to jump across, and he didn’t come across another soul there or in China, or in Thailand, or in India, or in Kazakhstan, or in Poland, or in Spain. He crashed in South Sudan, the last he can remember, and didn’t find anyone there, either. 

He hopes Delores is okay. She’d be fine without him, of course, she’s always been stronger, but he didn’t want her to have to be alone. If he is, in fact, before the Apocalypse now, he’ll go find her. She’ll remember him, and together they’ll figure out how to stop the end of the world.)

Five can barely lift his head, and it feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton. His eyes burn, his shoulders ache, his legs are like lead. Despite these things, hope like a flood races through Five’s veins. 

He’s made it out. 

He looks around the room through half-lidded eyes, one final time, before the adrenaline from waking up in a new and populated place wears off, and he drifts off again, unable to do much else. 

Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., spy amongst spies, a man whose secrets have secrets have secrets, does not like what he’s seeing. 

The Tesseract has been putting off higher than average emissions for one week now, and no one has been able to tell him what it means. Though his scientists have not figured out much about the Tesseract, they understand enough to know it is powerful. Nick understands enough to know it is dangerous. 

He is wary of the blue cube, but he also sees that it has great potential for S.H.I.E.L.D. It can be used for weapons, energy, and any number of things that have yet to be conceived. It needs to be studied. It needs to be protected. It needs to be kept far away from anywhere it can do a lot of damage. 

Which is why Nick Fury does not like the printout he’d been handed by Lieutenant Maria Hill, a superb agent and an outstanding leader, and the closest thing to a confidant Nick has ever had. She stands silent as he reads, and when he looks up to her from the packet, her face is set into an expression as grim as his. 

“Nothing else?” he questions, because though he just read through all the information provided, Nick Fury is a very thorough man. 

“No, sir,” Maria responds, confident in a way not many people are with Director Nick Fury, in a way that affirms the openness between them (as much openness as there ever is, between two spies). 

“Put together a team. Whoever you need, whatever you need. This is priority number one now. Get to the bottom of this, Hill.” Nick doesn’t need to tell her to use discretion. 

“Yes, sir,” she says, assuring him that she understands that he’d rather be on this case himself, but is too wrapped up in so many other crises to oversee this one as well. She’s the best person for the job, and if anyone can figure out what’s going on, it will be her. 

Agent Maria Hill leaves his office promptly, sliding the door shut behind her. Nick gives himself ten seconds to rest his head in his hands and breathe deeply before tucking the file into his drawer, locking it, and turning back to the hundred other fires he must put out. 

Godspeed, Agent Hill. Godspeed. 

Let it never be said that Tony Stark respects anyone’s privacy but his own. He’s a curious man, sue him! 

(He’d love to see you try, anyway. Tony Stark has the best lawyers in the world, and they’ve gotten him out of far worse than a little snooping.)

So here he sits, covered in oil stains and coffee grounds, perched on a stool in his basement laboratory at three in the morning, elbow deep in some files he is certain S.H.I.E.L.D. does not want anyone to see. He hasn’t managed to crack into the Helicarrier servers yet, their security is so tight he needs to plant a bug on the ship, but he is currently looking at personnel files from one of their small research labs in New York City. 

It’s a good chuckle, for his sleep deprived sense of humor, to read the incident reports of one Meredith Brane, who seems incapable of going even a week without spilling something dangerous on her sleeve or starting accidental fires. He’s just finished the most recent entry, detailing how the scientist lost her glasses to a highly corrosive agent she had been told to stay away from, and is now scrolling through their charted data to try and puzzle backwards just what they’re researching that allows Dr. Brane such a wide scope of accidents. 

He skims a few spreadsheets filled with titration curves and reaction times, chemistry stuff that’s never been as interesting to him as math and physics. His eyes catch on a recording from an external sensor that was deleted only an hour after it was saved to the database. That’s suspicious, and very interesting, from an organization that, up until this point, seemed to have a rule punishable by death to never delete anything. Honestly, Tony swears that S.H.I.E.L.D.’s primary security defense is keeping so much useless garbage in their memory banks that anyone trying to hack into their files gets so bored they give up. 

Unluckily for them, Tony Stark is a very persistent, very curious man. 

They deleted the file from whatever desktop (heathens, the lot of them) they’re using, but S.H.I.E.L.D.’s paranoia about getting rid of anything is playing to Tony’s advantage today, because their systems don’t fully delete files until 24 hours after they’ve been removed the computer screen. This is likely in an effort to be able to retrieve anything accidentally deleted, a good back up plan, and Tony is here to fully exploit it. 

The sensor is designed to record pollution levels, primarily, but is also capable of reading radiation signatures. And at 6 AM yesterday morning, the sensor read an absolutely massive amount of gamma radiation. Tony’s never seen anything like it. Not even Bruce Banner’s fateful experiment yielded radiation readings this high. 

Why’s S.H.I.E.L.D. deleting something this important? This needs to be investigated further. 

And, well, Tony has a lot of complaints about S.H.I.E.L.D. and the decisions they make, but he knows even they’re not stupid enough to just ignore this. He’s certain they sent the data somewhere to be analyzed. And, it only makes sense to delete it from a less secure satellite office, staffed by scientists rather than agents, if they don’t want just anyone seeing it. 

S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hiding something pretty important, and Tony’s going to get to the bottom of it. 

“Jarvis, what’s the model on this sensor?” he asks. “And what’s its recording radius?”


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha Romanov is thankful for the job she has. She genuinely likes most of her coworkers, enjoys the nature of the work, likes traveling the world for missions. It’s leagues ahead of where she used to be, and she wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

Right now, however, she’s quickly growing tired of how tedious fieldwork can be. 

Yesterday afternoon, Lieutenant Hill gathered her, Coulson, Allen, Clark, and Grey together and briefed them on the gamma radiation spike, comparable to the power of the Tesseract, detected in west Brooklyn that morning. She tasked Coulson and Grey with looking into high profile gangs in the area, anyone who could get their hands on tech that advanced. The boys are also supposed to dig into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s persons of interest, especially “extremist” scientists who have been in New York City recently. Allen and Clark are setting up sensors with wider recording radii all over the city, prepped to catch even the faintest traceable amount of radiation or energy. 

Natasha got the unenviable task of questioning residents of the area. She and Hill have been at it all morning, asking tenants about unusual noises, strange light, random heat waves, power surges, anything. Unfortunately, the sensor that first picked up the anomaly couldn’t tell them exactly where it occurred, only that it was within a half mile from the lab. With lack of a better plan, Natasha started from the south and Maria started from the north, and they’re working towards each other. 

This whole operation would be a lot faster with more people, but Natasha understands that Fury wants this strictly need-to-know. Anything even remotely connected to the Tesseract is top secret. Natasha only knew about it ahead of time because of Clint, who’s currently guarding the real thing. 

She’s been canvassing for three and a half hours now, with nothing new. She’s tired, hungry, and sore. She hopes Hill is having more luck, because Natasha’s taking a break for lunch. There’s a coffee shop a block from the apartment building she just finished, and she heads for it. 

Halfway through a chocolate croissant, she gets her first real breakthrough on the case. 

“It was just super loud, man, I thought the fire escape fell off the side of the building,” a girl, Leslie, her name tag reads, says, as she wipes down the counter next to the register. “So I went to see, you know, if I had to call Colleen or something, but when I opened the door it just slammed right back in my face. I can’t believe you didn’t hear the thunder, dude, you only live, like, ten minutes from here.” 

Her friend, a tall barista with a rather unfortunate haircut, just shrugs. “I’m a heavy sleeper. The news didn’t say anything about thunderstorms yesterday.”

“Weather boy’s predictions are never even in the right area code. Whatever. Point is, once the wind died down I finally got the door open, and there’s no rain or nothin’, but there’s trash all over the place, like, more than usual. Wind must’a ripped the bags open, ‘cause it’s everywhere. And I’m just startin’ to think, yikes, glad I don’t have to clean this up, when I see this kid conked out in the middle of it all.” 

Leslie isn’t even pretending to clean anymore, waving her hands as the energy of her story builds. Her coworker still seems disinterested from where he’s restocking sugar packets. He nods a little, though, so she continues. 

“So I head over to him, right, and he looks real bad. Bloody nose, hair greasy as all get out, way too skinny. He doesn’t wake up at all when I start talking to him, but I don’t want to shake him or anything in case his neck is broken, but I swear his hands were glowing. Like, blue energy glowing.”

“Did you get a picture?” He sounds a little more interested, still disbelieving though. 

“No, it only lasted for a second,” Leslie says, but quickly follows it up with, “but I swear it happened, dude.” 

“Sure.”

“So then I called 911, and the ambulance showed up, carted him away, the whole horse and pony show. I can’t believe you missed it, man, most interesting thing to happen here in weeks.”

The two kids’ conversation shifts to unfortunate customers they’ve had, but Natasha has already stopped listening. She’s pulled out her tablet and is looking into dispatch records to the coffee shop’s address from the previous morning. It doesn’t take long, with how advanced S.H.I.E.L.D.’s tech is. 

Monday, May 7th, at 6:14 AM, an ambulance was sent to the coffee shop to pick up an unnamed child, condition unknown, unconscious and unresponsive. The ambulance took the child to Victory Memorial Hospital for emergency care. 

Natasha sends the information to Hill, crams the rest of her croissant in her mouth, and heads for the hospital. 

Five wakes up again at, if the wall clock is to be trusted, 12:30. His mind feels much clearer this time around. 

He checks to see that he can move all his limbs, pleased to find that they don’t feel nearly as heavy. He must be reaching the end of whatever dose of drugs he’s on. Excellent. Five wants to be as clear headed as possible for when he finds his family. 

The thought has a smile, his first genuine one in a very, very long time spreading across his face. He’s going to see his family again. 

Adrenaline floods his veins, propelled by a giddy kind of joy, and he sits up quickly. He carefully takes the needle out of his arm when his head stops spinning, then swings his legs over the side of the bed. It’s then that he notes he’s only wearing a thin cotton hospital gown and gray fall prevention socks. A cursory look around the room reveals his clothes from the apocalypse (a dirty henley and too large jeans) are nowhere to be found. 

No matter, he’ll just pick up new clothes on the way. He jumps to the window, disappointed to find that even the short distance has winded him, but not entirely surprised. Time travel takes it out of you, he knows. The disappointment doesn’t last long, however, because he’s quickly distracted by the streets teeming with people below him. 

Hundreds of people rush about below him, and it takes Five’s breath away. Real, actual, tangible proof of other life. For the first time in a year. People other than Delores, walking dogs, going to work, getting lunch, talking to their friends, to their family. 

It’s the most beautiful thing Five’s ever seen. 

He jumps outside, to the roof of the building across the street. Breathes in air not saturated in ash and dust and decay, feels the unobstructed sun on his face, hears the hustle and bustle of life in a big city. He allows himself a minute, uninterrupted and blissful, to take in the scenery, to let it fully sink in that he made it, that he’s no longer trapped in the world’s largest prison, no longer being punished for his ambition, for disobeying his father, for leaving his siblings alone, with no buffer between them and their father. 

Then, he gets to work. 

Five’s first order of business is figuring out when he is. The where matters much less when one can teleport. He jumps down to street level, stumbling slightly and leaning against the wall. His body aches, and his muscles cry out for him to stop doing that, but Five is in the home stretch now. He can taste success, just out of his reach, right around the corner. 

“Hey, hon, you okay?” a woman’s voice says, and he turns to see a mother and her young child, she barely comes up the Five’s waist, concern in her eyes.

He blinks. A voice, not his own, the first time he’s been spoken to, out loud, in so long. At first, he can’t respond, too stunned, too elated. Then, he realizes he doesn’t want to respond, he wants his first words to be to his siblings. It’s stupid, and childish, but it feels important, special, critical that the first people he talks to are his brother and sisters, preferably Vanya or Ben, but he’ll be ecstatic for any of them. 

Mutely, he shakes his head, and stumbles along the sidewalk, bracing his weight against the wall. 

“It’s okay, hon. Are you lost? The hospital is just across the street, I can help you back over there.”

He ignores her, keeps moving forward. He needs a newspaper, a calendar, something. 

“Here, don’t be scared, I’m sure your parents are worried about you--” she grabs a hold of his shoulder, gently, so very gently, but it still sets all of Five’s nerves on fire. He jerks out of her hold, whirls around, and glares. 

At least, he hopes he glares, because his whole body is tingling. It’s distracting, the shape of her hand burning cold on his skin, and he finds he can’t think very clearly, suddenly. The street that was so exciting a minute ago is too crowded, now. He stares into her eyes, overwhelmed by such an intimate connection. A stranger brushes past him, and he doesn’t even register that he’s jumped until he’s falling to his knees, in a parking garage, tucked between the front bumper of a car whose brand he doesn’t recognize and a thick, concrete wall. 

He breathes deeply, slumped against cool metal, and closes his eyes. That… could have gone better. Five is anything but a quitter, however, so he hoists himself to his feet, rubs his bruised knees, and trudges towards the exit. 

First order of business, now, is finding clothes that attract far less Good Samaritans. 

He peeks out of the garage, still mostly hidden by the half wall that separates the parking spaces from the sidewalk, and surveys the street in front of him. There’s a few restaurants, a bodega, and what looks like a bank. Nothing that has clothes, evidently. Jumping is tiring, but Five doesn’t see a way to get around unbothered without it, so he jumps to the roof of one of the shorter buildings and takes in the surrounding shops from a higher vantage point. 

He repeats the process, jumping from rooftop to rooftop until he finds a Target. Perfect. 

It doesn’t take long for him to nick a new outfit (jeans that don’t require a belt but are a touch too short, a plain black button up, nondescript sneakers he can run in). He changes in the dressing rooms, ditches the hospital gown and socks in a trashcan behind an unattended desk, and is headed back for the street in just under four minutes. He knows, because he also stole a watch. Time has become very important to him. 

There’s a newspaper stand by the exit, and he snags one as he makes his way out the doors. 

Tuesday, May 8th, 2012. 

Not as far back as he’d have liked to go, but still early enough to stop the apocalypse. Early enough that all his siblings are alive. 

The newspaper is printed by a press he hasn’t heard of, the Daily Bugle, but it does tell him, in small letters at the upper right hand side of the paper, that he’s in New York City. 

Five’s heart soars. 

He’s off to the races, jumping with reckless abandon, his exhaustion overshadowed by the adrenaline racing through every inch of his body. He’s in New York City, so much closer to his siblings than he initially thought. He pauses just long enough to orient himself with the street signs, make sure he’s headed in the right direction, before he’s jumping again, building excitement with every leap. 

He can’t believe he didn’t recognize the city earlier, but it’s been a while since he’s been here, and even then it was in the past, so much has changed. Doesn’t matter now, though, because he’s almost home. 

Two blocks away, Five jumps directly into the foyer, yelling, “Vanya! Ben! Klaus!” 

No response comes, and it is a big house, so that’s not totally unheard of. He looks around, before his breath stops short. This isn’t the Academy. He must have gotten his jump wrong. 

Five jumps back out to the sidewalk, looks up and down the street, before looking back at the building he just exited. It’s got the right address, but it’s smaller than the Academy, an office building rather than a manor. 

It’s possible Reginald sold the lot after the last of the Umbrella Academy grew up and moved out, they’re all 23 now, adults, but he found the remains of the manor in the Apocalypse, right where he left it. Five whirls around, but the view that meets him is familiar. 

It’s the same buildings he’s looked at all his life, from the windows in the library, the sitting room, the third floor classroom. Maybe a little worse for wear, maybe a new tree, maybe a few more boarded up windows, but overall, it’s the exact same. 

He spins back around to look at where the Academy once stood, one more time, before jumping to Gimbel Bros. The department store building, at least, still stands, but the sign on the door is different. He searches every mannequin display, top to bottom, in the store, even checks the back room, but Delores is nowhere to be found. 

A heavy weight crushes Five’s chest, and he can’t breathe. 

This isn’t Gimbel Bros., anymore. Delores isn’t here, might not have even been made yet. The Academy is gone. Five has no idea where to even begin looking for his siblings, doesn’t know what jobs they have, if they’re at college, if they’re even still in the city.

He’s still alone. 

He crumples in on himself, tired and afraid and in pain, and sobs himself to sleep between stock boxes in the backroom of a J.C. Penney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> five is a little oblivious to a lot of important things, but he'll figure it out
> 
> also, i firmly believe natasha will stop working for a little snack. who's going to tell her no?


	3. Chapter 3

Five’s rest did not last long. 

(An employee, his name tag labeling him as Arthur, came back to his little corner to retrieve a box of sweaters forty five minutes after he crashed. 

The man’s movement woke him up, and thirteen years under his father’s thumb and an additional year in the apocalypse have made Five a very light sleeper. He jerked awake, banging his elbow into the metal shelving, and Arthur glanced over. 

“You can’t be back here, kid,” he said, still pulling the box from the shelf. His tone was flat. Bored. Disinterested. 

“I can be where ever I please, idiot.” Five had responded, already climbing to his feet. His head pounded, and Five would have jumped away then and there if he could have. 

“Whatever. Just don’t break anything.”

Arthur left, box in hand, and Five waited until the room stopped spinning to follow after him.)

Despite its brevity, the nap did allow Five’s thoughts to settle enough to recognize a few things. 

1\. He is not in New York City. At least, not the one he’s from. 

The realization hit him with such a strong wall of emotions (anger, hope, desperation, excitement, loss-) that Five needed a handful of deep breaths to really parse through it. 

There are subtle indicators, like newspaper publishers he’s never heard of (Five grew up under the spotlight, he knows every media outlet) and department stores he’s never heard of (who is J.C. Penney, anyways?) that would have been easy for anyone to miss, especially combined with all the aspects of this New York that are the same: the monuments, the streets, even most of the buildings. 

There are much larger indicators, though, that had Five not been so stupidly blinded by the thought of his family, would have noticed much sooner. The technology here is lightyears ahead of what Five had been surrounded by, and he grew up with a sentient android for a mother. The surplus of computers is apparent everywhere he looks, from the bright screens of neon billboards to the small devices seemingly everyone has, little black devices with touch screens that make sounds and vibrate. He hasn’t been able to tell what they do yet, but they’re intriguing, and they could help him get home. 

The second, and largest, indicator that Five is not home, is this: 

2\. The Umbrella Academy does not exist here. And not just the building, but the people. 

After leaving the JC Penney, Five made his way to the closest public library. This is a logical choice to him, libraries have always been a safe place. He spent the first two months of the Apocalypse in the library closest to where the Academy once stood. 

The library he stumbled into has more computers than he remembers, but the architecture is the same and he relaxes, just a little, at the familiarity. This New York’s lack of edificial Academy had his suspicions high, but the complete lack of Umbrella Academy comics in the library confirms it for him. 

Five spends the next four hours camped out in the library, reading as many history books as he can. A lot of major events line up as he remembers learning them, but this world had no four day war between the United States and Canada in 1884, had a Civil War era siege on Vicksburg rather than Pigeon Forge, has had 43 presidents, rather than 48. 

Five catalogues each of these details, scribbling notes in the margins of the pages, before his stomach cramps terribly. And finally, he realizes, that:

3\. He’s unbelievably hungry. And this world has unspoiled, fresh, abundant, food. 

Maria Hill storms into Victory Memorial Hospital like a badger after a beehive, Natasha Romanov trailing after her at a much more sedate pace. 

She’s up the stairs and into the pediatric ward in under four minutes. Room 313 had been marked in the hospital logs as housing the unidentified boy, picked up unconscious from an alley in west Brooklyn. 

The room is not empty when she enters, but the bed is. 

A doctor and two nurses stand around it, looking worried. 

“Where is he?” Maria asks, impatient. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, who are you?” The doctor questions. She’s young, and looks entirely out of her depth. 

Maria flashes her S.H.I.E.L.D. badge, and says, “I’m looking for the boy that’s supposed to be here. It is very important that I find him.” 

“If you find him, let us know.” One of the nurses, an older woman with an expression that speaks to years in the profession, says. “He shouldn’t be up and about.” 

A quick glance around the room doesn’t reveal much. No security cameras, probably for patient confidentiality. There are bound to be some in the hallway, though. The wall paper is tacky, aimed towards young kids. The clock on the wall reads 12:49. 

Maria pokes her head back into the hall, says to Romanov, “Check the security feed.” 

The other woman nods, leaves without a word. Maria turns back to the room’s occupants. Pulls out a notepad. 

“When did he go missing?” 

“We only got in here a few moments before you did,” the older nurse replies, “but he was here when Mel checked at noon.” The second nurse nods, confirming the words. 

“He can’t have gotten far.” Mel adds. “He’s malnourished and dehydrated. He probably woke up disoriented, got scared, and left.” 

“Tell me everything you know about him.” 

At this, the doctor butts in again. “Excuse me, Miss, but that’s confidential. He’s our patient, he’s missing, and if you don’t mind, we really need to contact hospital security.” 

“All due respect, doctor,” Maria says, and her tone brooks no room for argument, “we don’t have time for that. He is not a patient, he is a threat, with so much dangerous potential we can’t even measure it. He is missing, and I am going to find him before someone gets hurt, dead, or worse. And unless he is still in the building, and your security can find him, the most helpful they’ll be is by staying out of my way.” 

“He’s just a little boy,” Mel protests weakly. 

Maria stares down the three other occupants of the room. They shift nervously, shuffling their feet and glancing at one another. 

“He can’t be older than thirteen or fourteen.” The older nurse offers, glancing at the others to see if they’ll object. “Long black hair, green eyes, maybe 5’1”, we didn’t measure him. Skinny as a rail. I don’t care what you say about him being a threat, he’s weak as a kitten now. I can’t even believe he managed to walk himself out of this room, let alone out of the building. Also got a real square jaw line, if that helps.”

“Thank you,” Maria sighs, “Did any of you talk to him?”

“No.” This time the doctor speaks up. “He was unconscious when we brought him in, hasn’t woken up until now, apparently.” 

Maria huffs, but is ultimately unsurprised. Nothings ever easy for her, why should it start now?

Natasha raps on the door, and when Maria looks over, shakes her head once. So, no sign of the kid on the security footage, then. He could have gone out the window, but a quick look shows that the pane is painted into the surrounding wall, and the seal remains unbroken. 

This leaves the outcome Maria really did want to avoid: kid’s got some kind of power, and odds are, it’s related to the Tesseract. They definitely have to treat him as a threat. 

As she and Romanov leave the hospital, copies of his medical chart in hand just in case, Maria hopes he really is hostile, if only so they don’t have to take out a child who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

S.H.I.E.L.D.’s sensors are good, but Tony’s are better. Duh. Obviously, he’s smarter than even their smartest techs, and he doesn’t ever sell his best designs. Additionally, Jarvis is constantly analyzing data from the recording systems, parsing out patterns and trails. 

And from 12:32 to 12:39 on Tuesday, May 8th, there is a surge of gamma radiation. The sensors picked up the radiation at random intervals, nearly simultaneously. The first surge was detected at Victory Memorial Hospital, with about a minute going by before it was picked up again across the street. After that, several bursts happened at once randomly, including at a Target a few blocks away. The power was not detected again until almost three minutes later, again at the Target. 

Whatever is emitting this much radiation can, apparently, move pretty fast, because the map Jarvis drew him up of where the energy was detected drew a straight line, through several city blocks (including the buildings) to a random office building, where they promptly changed course to a JC Penney. 

Since then, no more energy has been detected. 

This is no problem for someone with Tony Stark’s resources, of course. Video from security cameras, when in the hands of a genius, can reveal a lot. 

Tony learns that S.H.I.E.L.D. is a lot more competent than initially suspected, because they had agents at the hospital just fifteen minutes after the first energy surge. He learns that Target really ought to get actual security cameras rather than black plastic half-spheres that aren’t connected to anything. And he learns that the wielder of all this gamma power is nothing more than a little kid, when he comes stumbling out of the front doors of a department store he’s never seen entering. 

Tony tracks him for a little while on traffic cams, but he gets lost in the crowd pretty easily. Facial recognition brings up nothing, a little surprising with the prevalence of social media, but no unheard of. Frustrating, though. 

It’s been four and a half hours since the kid was last seen, and even longer since any gamma radiation has been detected. So, when a sensor in Manhattan picks up another power surge in an apartment building with four unfurnished studios on the top floor, Tony is there in under three minutes. 

“Yikes, kid, it’s a little early to be stocking up for winter, don’t you think?” He asks, because, really. The kid stares at him like a deer in headlights, his cheeks stuffed full of, what looks to be, strawberry Nutrigrain bars. There’s grocery bags full of food surrounding him-- water bottles, bread, prepackaged ham, peanut butter, and marshmallows on the floor next to him, fruits spilling onto the paper covered boards under the window, nuts and canned soups and vegetables crammed into the corner. Discarded wrappers and empty boxes are scattered around haphazardly, like he dropped them the second they were cleared from the food, wherever he was standing. 

“You gave quite the run around the city, huh?” He continues, when the kid gives no response. “You’ve got a lot of people looking for you, you know. Powerful people. Dangerous people. They almost caught up to you at the hospital, by the way. How’d you get out of there off the cameras? It didn’t seem like you really cared about them at Target, but you avoided every single one in and around the hospital. Why’s that? Are you hiding from a doctor? A nurse?” 

The boy swallows heavily, and when he speaks, flecks of strawberry filling still stain his teeth. 

“Who’re you?” Is all he says, but his voice is strong even if his posture is tense and there’s fear in his eyes. 

Which, okay, hurts a little bit. Tony thought the whole world knew who Iron Man is. He’s in the suit and everything. 

“Uh, you hit your head or something, kid? I’m Iron Man. Tony Stark. Smartest, richest man in the world. Handsomest, too, not that that probably matters too much to you. People ran an article on it in 2010 and everything.” 

His eyebrows scrunch together, confusion written all over his young face. It turns to frustration pretty quickly.

“That means nothing to me. And I’m not a ki-” He cuts off abruptly, paling quickly. He swallows a few times, and dread settles on his face just before he drops to his hands and knees and vomits. All the Nutrigain bars come right back up, along with whatever else this kid just gorged himself on, and Tony steps back on instinct. 

Disgusting, but the kid doesn’t put up a fight when Tony inches closer. He glances up at him from where he’s now leaned back against the wall, exhaustion in every line of his small body. 

“What’s your name kid?” Tony asks, gentling his voice. He kneels down slowly, not wanting to put a hole through the floor with his knee. 

A quick turn around from his earlier defiance, the boy resignedly whispers, “Five.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to post these every friday, Pennsylvania time, and we are cutting it close today lads.


	4. Chapter 4

He knew jumping into the apartment building was a mistake, because now he is far too tired ( _not_ weak) to jump out of this robot's arms. Well, maybe a robot. Suit of armor? Five is 98.6% sure there is an actual human hidden behind the gaudy red and yellow metal, but he has no idea _why_. 

Iron Man has taken him away from his food, and is now flying him over skyscrapers to an undisclosed location. Which is just _great_. 

Admittedly, the flying is very cool. In any other situation, Five would be ecstatic, but right now, he’s tired and cold and sick, and just wants to lie down and, hopefully, get some answers. 

Five doesn’t try speaking to Metal-Head, his voice definitely won’t carry over the wind, and resigns himself to having to figure out some way to escape wherever the man is taking him. 

Considering that Five knows nothing about Stark, it can be implied that Stark also knows nothing about him. Then again, the man did manage to find Five’s hideout very quickly, and apparently also knew he’d been at the hospital and the Target. Probably also knows about the department store. Perhaps he knew about Five’s jumps? He hadn’t exactly been subtle about it. 

Whatever the man does or does not know, Five’s not telling him anything. Call him petty, but he doesn’t appreciate being dragged around the city without a say. 

He continues to stew over recent events, formulating plans and running probabilities, for the remainder of their short trip. He’s jarred out of his musings when they begin a rapid descent towards a very ugly tower with Stark’s name emblazoned across the top. So the man was being honest about being rich. The smart remains to be seen. 

They touch down on a landing pad. Metal rings spring up around them as they move towards a glass door, stripping Stark of his armor. Fascinating. Five had assumed the suit was all one piece, maybe the head being separate. This is far more advanced than he had been anticipating. He hopes he gets a chance to explore the technology of this world before he leaves. 

Stark carries him to the white couch next to the large bay windows with considerably more effort than he showed when wearing the suit. So it increased his strength. Good to know. 

Five also gets his first good look at the man. 

Stark is tan, short hair and a goatee, dark eyes. He’s not especially tall, and while his t-shirt hangs relatively loose, it also shows that the man isn’t particularly muscled. Five judges that he could probably take him in a fight if it comes down to it. Stark is not bigger than most of the thugs Five and his siblings took down, all that time ago. 

After placing him down on the couch, Stark heads to the small kitchen and grabs two water bottles from the refrigerator. He walks back to Five, hands him one, and takes a seat across from him on the coffee table. 

“So, kid, what’s your deal?”

Well, at least the man doesn’t beat around the bush. Five remains silent. Stark has proven that he likes to talk, and sooner or later he’ll offer up some useful information. 

“Are you running from someone? In trouble? Don’t try and deny it, I tracked your mad dash around town this afternoon. You’re quick, I’ll give you that. You picked up some essentials, clearly. Clothes, food, more clothes at JC Penney? Yeah, that one and the office building threw me for a loop. Probably got whoever else is hunting you down off your trail, too, huh? That why you left the hospital so quick? Before they could get to you?” 

Five continues to stare at him. The guy knows a lot, but clearly not everything. 

“How are you getting around so fast? Tech? Whatever it is gives off a ton of gamma radiation, you know. Better be careful about that. Is it S.H.I.E.L.D.? They’ve been tracking you down. I wouldn’t put it past those creeps to experiment on a kid.” 

So either Stark is playing dumb, or really doesn’t know about Five’s jumps. Finally, something useful: he’ll have the element of surprise.

Gamma radiation? He’s read about it in passing, but never paid too much attention to it. Giving off energy when he jumps, though, does make a lot of sense, on a scientific level. Another aspect of his powers to research. He wishes he had something to write with. 

Five isn’t sure who S.H.I.E.L.D. is, but it’s good to know he has another party to watch out for. He needs to go back to the library. There’s so much about this world he doesn’t know. 

“Also, five what? Five pursuers? Five minutes? Five Nutrigrain bars? What’s the five mean, kid?” 

“It’s a nickname.” Five’s voice is raspy, and he winces and takes another swig of water. He’s getting tired of hearing Stark’s voice. He really, really wants to sleep. This conversation, though one sided, is exhausting. 

“Alright then, Five, you got a given name? A last name? Anything to look you up by?” Stark looks more excited now, after Five answered one of his seemingly endless questions. Now this could be useful. The question, then, is does the man want to sate his curiosity, or does he have a soft spot for kids? Either could be used to Five’s advantage in manipulating this fool: he looks like a child and he knows everything. 

Whichever weakness the man has, Five caters his answer to appeal to both. He pitches his voice a little higher, widens his eyes, and answers honestly. 

“My name is Number Five Hargreeves.” 

It’s a calculated risk, but Five is 77% sure he doesn’t even exist in this world. And, on the off chance he does have a doppelganger here with the same name, he highly doubts that this world’s Number Five Hargreeves is anything like him. 

Stark’s brow furrows a bit, and then raises, some kind of realization dawning in his eyes. Whatever conclusion he’s evidently come to, Five doesn’t care. His bones are heavy, his muscles ache, his stomach is still churning from his earlier bout of nausea. 

“Can I go to bed now?” He asks, deliberately slumping his shoulders, trying to appear as if his guard is down. 

Stark takes pity on him, and leads him to a bedroom. It’s decorated plainly, but the furniture and decorations are of the highest quality, practically reeking of wealth in excess. This, at least, is familiar to Five. In fact, the only room in the Academy that hadn’t been outfitted to the highest caliber had been Vanya’s. His heart seizes at the reminder that he’s still not back with his family, and it must show on his face, because Stark leaves him be pretty quickly, with only the vague instruction to “ask Jarvis” if he needs anything. 

(In a testament to his bone deep exhaustion, Five only cases the room once for potential threats. He completely misses the audio and video recorders, though he probably wouldn’t even recognize the advanced tech as such. He also misses the reinforced windows, the thick metal door, and the fact that all the furniture is bolted to the ground. 

Tony Stark feels pity for Five, but he is very wary of him. The boy is an unknown, and Tony will remain on guard until he knows more.) 

He collapses in to bed with the intent to sleep just long enough to regain his strength. In just a few short hours he should be able to jump out of here, and start getting some answers. 

* * *

“Stark?” Natasha asks, leaning against the wall of the nearly empty apartment. 

“Stark.” Allen confirms, standing from his crouch. His fingers brush over the burn marks on the unfinished floor one more time as he does. 

Natasha stoops down to pick up the unopened bag of marshmallows. She tears to top off and pops a few in her mouth as Maria calls Fury. 

Allen and Clark’s sensors picked up another massive burst of gamma radiation in this area at 6:12 this evening, and it had taken the whole team two and a half hours of searching to find this apartment. The kid had been here, judging by the food and the vomit. Clark is taking a sample of it for testing. Natasha looks away. Nasty. 

Maria ends her call with the big boss, and turns to her and Coulson. She eyes the bag of marshmallows, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Looks like we’re headed to Stark Tower,” she says, her voice light but her expression grim. 

Coulson cracks half a smile. Natasha seals the bag and tucks it under her arm. 

Off they go, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cool cool cool


	5. Chapter 5 (nice)

A preliminary search brings up nothing on a “Number Five Hargeeves,” but this isn’t necessarily surprising. Tony hadn’t really expected much from just a name. 

After he put the kid to bed, he and Jarvis truly began their search in earnest. He gave the A.I. a few more parameters, an approximate age range, location (probably North American based on Five’s accent), and he wrote a script to search for abnormal movements in and around sketchy medical facilities and laboratories. The kid is probably some kind of experiment, with a “name” like that, and on the top of Tony’s priority list for when he wakes up is getting him a new name. He has a few good ideas already. 

He did all this hours ago. Jarvis is now putting together every scrap of information he can find, compiling a folder and drawing conclusions. Tony is sitting at the bar on the top floor-- he’s done what he can, no way can he work faster than a computer, try as he might. Well, at least not a computer he designed. Definitely not Jarvis, in any case. 

He’s halfway through a bottle of whiskey when an alert from Jarvis dings out overhead. His hope of a break in the case is quickly dashed, however, when the A.I.’s calm voice informs him that he has visitors. S.H.I.E.L.D. visitors. Hill, Coulson, and Romanov, apparently. 

They’ve gotten quicker, he’ll give them that. 

He debates over whether or not to let them in for a moment. On the one hand, he doesn’t want them anywhere near the kid, especially if they’re here to lock him up, or worse, drag him back to wherever he escaped from. On the other, they could just be the fastest way to get information about Five. Additionally, there’s only three of them. And he’s Iron Man. He can protect one kid and get information at the same time. Mind made up, he tells Jarvis to let them up. 

  
  


Though her contact with the man has been limited, Maria Hill does not enjoy being around Tony Stark. He’s arrogant, entitled, and a liability. He has too much power for such a reckless man. 

She dreads their meeting the entire elevator ride up. On her left, Coulson smiles pleasantly. The man has a strange affinity for working with difficult people. He’s looking forward to this meeting, she can tell. On her right, Romanov is staring off into space, the bag of marshmallows still tucked under her arm. Whatever she’s thinking is unreadable on her face. 

Hopefully it will be over quickly. Get the kid, get out. Nothing has ever been that easy for her, though, because as soon as she steps out into the small living space, she sees Stark sprawled on the couch, facing them, a glass of liquor in his hand. 

“Greetings, agents!” He exclaims, waving the glass and making to stand. “Fancy seeing you here! And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Maria doesn’t care, right now, how Stark found out about the kid or how he tracked him better than they did. Those answers can wait until later. All she’s looking for tonight is the kid, so she can at least get one threat under control. 

“You know why we’re here,” Maria replies, striding further into the room. Romanov and Coulson follow at a more sedate pace. “Where’s the kid?”

“And why would you want to know that?” He questions back, smiling as he takes another sip from his glass. He’s obviously fishing for information, but he also holds more cards than they do right now. Outright lying to him isn’t her smartest move, here. 

Romanov comes to stand by Maria as Coulson ambles towards the bar. “You know we’re looking for him. We know you have him. Hand him over before this goes on all night.” 

Stark walks to meet Coulson at the bar, setting out three more glasses even as Maria continues to glare at him. “And why should I give him to you? As far as I know, you’re who he’s running from.”

“He’s very dangerous, Tony.” Coulson responds, accepting the glass and perusing the drink selection. “Unless you know something we don’t, the amount of gamma radiation he’s putting off is enough to level a city block. We just want to make sure he’s not hurting anyone. Or himself.”

Once again, Maria is so grateful for Coulson’s calm and reasonable demeanor. She’s barely two sentences in with Stark and wholeheartedly ready to beat something useful out of him. It’s been a long, long day. 

Stark’s eyes dart back and forth a few times, considering Coulson’s words.

“About that,” he starts, “why is he putting off that much energy? More than our esteemed Dr. Banner? And without all the reducing, reusing, and recycling.” Romanov raises an eyebrow at his phrasing, and he adds on, “Going green.”

“We’re not sure,” Maria supplies, relieved Stark doesn’t know  _ everything _ . “But we want to find out. The safest way to get answers is to let us take him to a secure facility for testing. No one has to get hurt.” Appealing to Stark’s curious nature, his inherent need to  _ know _ , seems like the best way to get him on their side. 

“Hm, that’s still no promise that  _ I _ get those answers, just that you do.” He runs one finger along the edge of the countertop, tapping it twice when he reaches the sink basin. 

Coulson rolls his eyes a little, saying, “you and I both know you can get whatever information you want, from any of our facilities.” 

An unpleasant reminder of just how dangerous Stark is, but true all the same. 

“Now here’s an idea,” Stark says, snapping his fingers. “I’ll keep the kid here, and you can get answers about him when you can hack  _ my _ servers. How about that?” 

Romanov snorts. “You want to keep a ticking time bomb in your office building? Around your employees? In the middle of the city? Some hero you are.” 

Stark narrows his eyes at her. 

Coulson cuts in again before the argument can get any further. “We’re all worried about him, and the best way to help him is if we all work together, hm?” He pauses, making eye contact with each of them. “Now, let’s all take a deep breath and  _ talk _ about this. I’m sure we can reach some kind of understanding.” 

Romanov and Stark continue to glare at each other, but stay quiet. Coulson shoots a look at Maria. Right, time to cut a deal. 

“Tell us what you know about him,” she addresses Stark, “and we’ll tell you what we know.”

Stark hums, bringing up a finger to tap at his chin obnoxiously. “That seems a little unfair, seeing as you don’t know  _ anything _ about him. You don’t even know his name, do you?” 

“We know he’s sick,” she shoots back. “Dehydrated, malnourished,  _ weak _ . We know you don’t know a thing about helping a hurt kid, we know we have more medical resources, expertise, and trained professionals.” 

“I could get a doctor here quick, you know. Perks of being rich.”

“You want to expose a civilian to this? This much radiation? This much danger?” 

There’s a slight twitch in his jaw, and though he tries to seem unaffected, Maria can tell he won’t. Can tell he knows the kid needs help he can’t provide. 

She doesn’t get to hear his response, though, because a robotic voice sounds out from overhead, “Sir, he’s awake.” 

And then there’s a flash of blue, the sound of displaced air, and the kid is standing there. 

He looks terrible, dark bags hanging under his eyes, oily hair disheveled, deep creases cut into his face from a pillowcase. He’s not wearing shoes, one of his pants’ legs is hiked up higher than the other, the collar of his shirt twisted. True to the nurse’s word, he looks like he’d lose a fight to stiff breeze, let alone three highly trained agents. 

The boy’s expression shifts from confusion to fear when he realizes he has three guns pointed at his head. He’s shaking, slightly, and Maria can’t tell if it’s from exhaustion or panic. 

Slowly, very slowly, he raises his hands to the universal “don’t shoot” gesture. 

They don’t lower their guns. 

He lets out a weary sigh, closes his eyes, and curses. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all ever think about how good of a song ain't it fun (paramore) is for five?   
> I listened to it while writing this chapter  
> (sorry this took so long)


	6. Chapter 6

It really says a lot about Five’s life that this does not even rank in his top ten most dangerous experiences. He’s had weapons trained on him for the better part of eight years, be it from bank robbers or gang members or Diego during group training. It’s a startlingly familiar sight. They’re not even firing at him. The only reason it’s not lower down the list is the extenuating alternate dimension angle. A year ago Five would have welcomed a break from the monotony. Now? He’s tired of new things.

Their stances are steady and sure-footed, each of them prepared to move at a moment’s notice. Each of them holds their weapon in a way that speaks to training and experience. The man moves in front of Stark, whose expression is one of open intrigue.

“Neat trick, Fivey. How’d you do that?” he asks, but Five doesn’t respond. He keeps his attention trained on the other three occupants and tries not to think about the only people on Earth he’d ever let get away with calling him that. At this point, he’d let them call him anything (even Klaus 2, as terrible as that suggestion had been) if it meant he could see them again.

He makes eye contact with the dark haired woman, the one clearly in charge, and waits for her to speak first. She stares back for a beat, assessing him openly, drinking in every detail of his certainly sorry appearance (he needs a haircut desperately), before speaking.

“You try anything, we shoot. You move, we shoot. You even breathe too heavily, we shoot. Got it?” she asks, tone unwavering.

He nods once. He’s in no shape to even risk getting shot, and still not totally confident in his powers. He’ll play nice.

“Good,” she says. “Now, what was that?"

By that, Five assumes she means his jump. And, well, if they don’t know already, he’s not about to give up his greatest asset. If she isn’t sure what it is, she definitely doesn’t know how it operates, and that is something Five can work with. Anything to get the upper hand in this weird, wrong world.

“I also would like to know,” Stark pipes up, leaning around the man and giving a little wave to get everyone’s attention. Five shoots him a dark look, the leader woman doing the same. They quickly turn back to each other.

“Teleportation,” Five says carefully, addressing the leader rather than Stark. Even with her gun trained on him, Five finds her much more tolerable than the annoying man. She at least seems competent.

“How?” she prompts.

Now here’s where things start to get sticky. Five has been lying to get what he wants for as long as he can remember. He’s the best at it, proven by how he can lie to his father, the most paranoid man alive, and get away with it. It’s a delicate matter, complicated now by how little information he has. It needs to give the other person what they want, while being easy to remember, and most importantly, be believable.

“This watch,” he starts, gesturing his wrist. “I can set the distance and direction I want to go using the second and minute hands.”

She, and the other two agents, cast a wary eye on the device. Stark looks ecstatic.

“Romanov,” she says, nodding to the red head.

Romanov apparently understands what she wants, holstering her gun and moving slowly toward Five. He holds his arm out to her.

“Don’t pinch the lug, that’s what activates it,” he warns, keeping very still as she undoes the buckle and slips the watch from his wrist. Romanov backs away from him and delicately puts the watch in her pocket.

With that, she nods to the other two and they slowly lower their own guns. Five lets out a breath.

There’s an awkward pause then, the agents clearly expecting more resistance and Five anticipating a fight. Naturally, Stark breaks it.

“You mind if I see that?” he asks Romanov, already trying to sidestep the man and get his hands on the watch. “I caught the kid, I get the toy. Them’s the rules.”

Romanov doesn’t engage, just stares him down. The leader interjects before the situation can devolve further.

“Shut up, Stark. Now,” and here she turns to Five. “Who’re you?”

“You first,” he replies. From what he can tell, and Five’s never been as good at reading people as Vanya or Ben, he doesn’t think Stark and these three are working together. Either it is a highly elaborate ruse to throw him off or they’re on opposite sides. Or they are an unbelievably dysfunctional team. There’s too many unknown variables, and Five wants to tear out his hair in frustration.

* * *

One glance at the kid and Natasha knows he’s got trust issues. Not uncommon for anyone in her line of work, but novel in the way that she doesn’t typically interact with children.

He stands defensively, with his arms tucked close to his chest and his feet pointing toward the door. His eyes, piercing and evaluative, dart between all of them in equal measure. Exactly two seconds for each of them, before he moves on to the next. Hill, then her, then Coulson, then Stark. Repeat. Assessing for threats, reading body language, looking for weaknesses. Two seconds. Like clockwork.

He’s frustrated and flighty and bad at hiding it.

He gives over the watch suspiciously easily. Broadcasts his movements when she takes it off, making sure they know he’s not trying anything. He’s definitely trying something, Natasha just isn’t sure what yet. Maybe he thinks he could take them in a fight. He’s clearly trained in interacting with foes- he's more annoyed than scared at having three guns pointed at him.

Maybe he has another device on him. An anklet or a belt or something. Accessorized weapons.

Or maybe he’s just more scared of going back to wherever he came from than going with them. It’s hard to tell with children, who are notoriously resilient. Some kids can go miles past their breaking points before they snap all at once. Some kids can lock every trauma so far and deep inside that it takes years to crawl back to the surface. Some kids direct their hurt outside, pushing everyone away so no one can see their weakness.

She knows. She saw it in all the other little girls from the Red Room. In herself. 

She ignores Stark as he tries for the watch. She’s a little unimpressed that one of the so-called greatest minds in technology didn’t recognize a teleportation watch, but lets it go for now. The kid’s the bigger issue.

“Who’re you?” Hill asks.

“You first,” the kid bites back. The acid in his tone is spilling over from his evident fear, confusion, and frustration with the situation.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.” Hill says, pulling out her badge. “Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. We control the weird. I’m Agent Hill, these are agents Coulson and Romanov.”

Coulson smiles, nodding a little toward the kid in acknowledgment. He’s always been unusually soft for a spy, but Natasha can’t hold it against him. Without him, neither she nor Clint would be here. The kid just scoffs.

“Weird, huh? Weird like a teleporting teenager?” he mutters to himself. “Weird like a flying metal unitard?”

Natasha smirks as Stark squawks. Hill nods, posture relaxing ever so slightly as the tension bleeds out of the room. The kid is not an active threat, at least for the time being.

“My name is Five,” he offers. “How’d you find me?”

“Gamma radiation.”

“Enlightening.”

“We’ll tell you all about it and more back at base,” Coulson says, stepping around the bar. When Five shoots him a wary glance, he continues. “You’re sick. We have doctors experienced in this kind of thing-- they helped with the Hulk, after all. We can help you, and then you can help us.”

Five takes a moment, considering. Natasha watches as he casts a long look around the room, weighs his options, and reaches a conclusion.

“Am I going to be locked up?”

“Only if you start causing trouble.” Hill says.

Five looks at Stark one more time, so briefly that Natasha can’t tell if it’s for guidance or justification, and then nods.

“Deal.”

* * *

“Hey, Five!” Tony calls as the party makes their way to the elevator. “I think you forgot these!”

He jogs towards them, holding the marshmallows Natasha had dropped on the bar. Five looks bewildered, but accepts the bag and tucks it close to his chest. The elevator doors close, and they’re on their way.

Scrawled on a napkin tucked in between the fluffy confectioneries, Tony’s scrawl reads: _Come find me when you get bored of them. And bring the "watch."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol sorry it's been so long, but a HUGE thank you to bi_gemini1983 for helping me with this chapter!!
> 
> (also i know it's out of character, but i don't really like swear words so everyone's insults are going to have to be real creative in this fic)


	7. Chapter 7

Once he’s been cleared by S.H.I.E.L.D.’s medical team, he’s set up in a small room (read: holding cell) somewhere in the middle of the elaborate complex. Five memorized all the room numbers they passed on the way to the infirmary and then to the room, but so far hasn’t been able to discern any real rhyme or reason to how the base is set up. Other than the obvious desire to confuse anyone who doesn't work here, that is. 

The room itself is simple: one cot and a desk, both welded to the floor; a single, glaring overhead light; and one corner with a toilet, sink, and an overhead shower that a curtain can be drawn around. Not glamorous, but Five has grown to appreciate the little things. Like a stable roof. And clean air. On second thought, maybe he is living the high life here. 

When agents Romanov and Coulson dropped him off, they left him with a fresh pair of gray sweats, a bar of soap, and the instructions to call out if he needed anything. Apparently, there’s a guard outside the door. 

Not locked up, they’d said. Yeah, right. 

The first thing he’d done was take a shower, because even though he’d been cleaned up at the hospital, the siren call of consciously experiencing hot, running water had been irresistible. He doesn’t take as long as he wants to, however, because the clock is ticking on his relative freedom. 

Hindsight being 20/20, lying about the watch is going to prove relatively futile. It bought him a little extra time out of cuffs, sure, but he hasn’t learned as much about this facility or the organization running it to make much of a difference. Unfortunate, but not an insurmountable issue. 

He finishes toweling his hair, folds the terrycloth neatly on the desk, and presses his ear up against the door. He can’t hear the guard, but the room is probably soundproofed. He doesn’t see a camera in the room, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one watching him. His father is able to hide them, and these people might even have more resources than he does. 

Five takes a step back from the door, and starts breathing more heavily. He gasps, clutching at his chest, and backs into the far wall. He widens his eyes, buckles his knees slightly, and scratches at his throat. The second he sees the door handle twitch, he takes a staggering step forward and jumps. 

* * *

Steve Rogers, World War II vet, supersoldier, and Captain America, startles only slightly when a horde of agents goes tearing past him on his way to the gym. He shakes his head a little bitterly, and continues on his way. 

Since waking up here, decades ahead of everything and everyone he knows, he’s been consistently left out of the loop. For all the effort S.H.I.E.L.D. put in to pulling him from the ice, they’ve done the bare minimum in terms of helping him acclimate. Past that first, shoddy attempt at making him  _ believe _ it was still the ‘40s (getting his hopes up, more like), they’ve essentially left him alone. Isolated. 

Agent Romanov, who greeted him when he woke, has since been on missions all over the world, so he hasn’t spoken to her much. He hasn’t even seen Director Fury in months. The only person he interacts with with any regularity is Coulson, and that always feels more like talking to a fan than a friend. 

(He misses Bucky so much it  _ hurts _ .)

Supposedly, he’s being given time to himself, to grieve and heal and learn about the future, but that’s all a little difficult without anyone else. Instead of that, he’s been searching for distractions. Hence, the gym. Steve’s spent more time here than at his apartment. It’s easy to get lost in the repetitiveness of exercise, and provides an excellent outlet for his frustrations towards S.H.I.E.L.D. 

S.H.I.E.L.D., who dragged him out of the ice and into a world where all his friends and family are dead or dying, who barely talk to him, who won’t even give him a job or mission or chore,  _ anything _ , to occupy his time and his mind, who deliberately exclude him from everything even remotely important. 

It’s been a very long time since Steve was intentionally shut out. Not to sound too conceited, but he’s used to being important. Captain America, clearly, was always the center of attention, a leader with a clear purpose, trusted and confided in and irreplaceable. Even before the serum, when he was disposable and weak and easily ignored, Bucky made a pointed effort to include him in anything he could. 

He hits the punching bag a little harder than he means to. It jars him out of his thoughts, at least. 

He stills the bag, takes a long swig from his water bottle, and tries to tune out the rush of blood in his ears. 

He’s glaring at the group of scientists hurrying past the door when a voice pipes up from behind him, “Do you work here?” 

Steve whirls around. Perched on top of the mats stacked against the wall is a kid. He’s sitting cross legged, chin on his palms and elbows on his knees, leaning forward expectantly. There are dark circles around his eyes, but he looks alert nonetheless. 

“Who are you?” Steve asks warily, looking back out the door for the scientists. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” the kid says, grinning and hopping down to the floor. “I’m Five. There any cameras in here?” 

Five strides across the room and extends a small hand. Steve shakes it, because he is his mother’s son, and gives an apologetic shrug. “Steve. And you’re asking the wrong guy. Last camera I saw was too big to hide like they do today.” 

Five quirks an eyebrow at that, but doesn’t comment. “That’s fine, we won’t be here long anyway. There any offices around here?” 

“You looking for anyone in particular?” 

“Hill, Coulson, or Romanov. Whichever is closest.” 

And, well, this is all very strange. A kid, appearing from nowhere, asking about surveillance systems and agents by name. But, Steve doesn’t see the harm in taking him  _ to _ an agent. Plus, how is  _ he  _ to know what he’s supposed to do? S.H.I.E.L.D. hasn’t told him anything. Maybe after this they’ll start looping him in. In the meantime, he’s feeling a little petty. 

“Sure, Five, you want anything to eat first?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey team, it's been a while, huh? hope everyone's doing well :)   
> (also, i have not actually seen the avengers movie in literal years, and am incredibly lazy, so any plot anomalies can be attributed to 5's interference.)


	8. Chapter 8

Maria is going to strangle the little rat. A teleporting watch, huh? It took Smithson all of thirty minutes to trace the device back to the Target the kid had raided. It still has the sticky residue on the back from the price label. 

And  _ then _ , he had the  _ audacity _ to fake a medical emergency, knock Quinn out, and promptly disappear. Now everyone’s scrambling to find him, because he has a frankly uncanny ability to hide from what should be hidden cameras. 

One unfortunate downside of being a highly secretive and largely successful spy organization is the insane paranoia harbored deep in the hearts of every single hire. While S.H.I.E.L.D. has eyes on half the world, they don't have cameras in most of their offices. Too many top secret meetings to risk the potential security threat. Perhaps too much hubris that they can't be infiltrated. Regardless, a scant few hallway cameras are not providing the necessary coverage to track down Five. So, the old fashioned way it is.

She already has everyone not on a Level One assignment looking for him, and has assigned Coulson to Blocks A and D, herself to B and C, and Romanov to the surrounding area. It’s more cursory than anything, because Five can teleport and is more than likely out of the building by now, but it’s procedure and she wants to have all her bases covered before she has to take this to Fury. 

Suppressing the urge to stomp down the hallway, she hopes Romanov is having more luck than her, that Five is just hiding in the tree line and can be dragged back in. Where they can then  _ sedate _ him. She gave him the benefit of the doubt, and he ruined it. Child or not, he has proven to be dangerous, and will be treated as a prisoner. 

She’s turning back toward the offices when she sees movement up ahead. It was too quick to identify the cause, but she's down the hallway in a second, taser poised and ready. 

Silently, she creeps around the corner, scanning the closed doors in front of her. They're mostly administrative offices, home to the majority of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s payroll managers and the largest color copier she's ever seen. They  _ should _ all be empty right now, because corporate lackeys or not, all S.H.I.E.L.D. employees are trained professionals, and she ordered them to be scouring the perimeter for the kid. 

So, any movement is suspicious. And Maria Hill has devoted her life to the suspicious. 

The telltale sound of a near silent footstep, and she's off. 

* * *

Five pops back into Coulson's office and tries to hide how out of breath he is. From the look Steve is giving him, he's apparently not very successful. 

Whatever. He'd like to see the man lead Hill on a wild goose chase half as well as Five just did. With any luck, she'll assume he's trying to infiltrate their labs, rather than their offices (which, in a sense, was true-- he did find his watch in the trash bin of the second lab he poked around in). And anyway, he doesn't have time for Steve's concern. They've got far more important work to get done. 

"She's off our tail for now, but it probably won't last long." He says, trying the first drawer of the filing cabinet. It's locked. 

"Right," Steve says, eyeing him as he turns to root through the unlocked drawers of the desk. "What are we looking for?" 

"Right now? A key." Five tosses a pack of playing cards over his shoulder. It hits the filing cabinet. He hopes Steve gets the hint. "Hop to it." 

"And then?" 

Five barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. Why can't this man just take an order? 

"And  _ then _ , we're trying to find anything about gamma radiation." 

"Why's that?" 

This time Five does roll his eyes, heaves a sigh, and raises his head to meet Steve's questioning stare. 

"Because," he says slowly, "it's how they found me in the first place, and I can't risk that happening again. I don't have  _ time _ for any distractions, I need to get  _ home _ ." 

There's a beat, neither willing to be the first to break eye contact, and Steve stares at him evaluatively. Finally, the man sighs. 

"Okay. I'll take the paper files, you take the electronic ones." 

Five nods. The blinks. Replays what the man said. 

"'Electronic ones?'" 

"Yeah? That's what they're called, right? I'm not so sure how it works, but S.H.I.E.L.D. stores pretty much everything on the computers." Steve points at the screen on Coulson's desk. 

Five studies it carefully. He knows what a computer is, but last he checked they didn't look like this. In his world they're big and clunky and used pretty much exclusively for scientific pursuits, be it NASA or whatever his father does with them. Five's never  _ used _ one before. 

It's a large screen (not cathode-ray, but something else) mounted on a pivoting stand. Several cables run out the back of it, connected, presumably, to the power source. On the bottom right corner of the plastic casing is a power button, and hesitantly, Five presses it. 

It comes to life quickly, and Five startles. The screen is a deep blue, and the text that appears prompts for a username and password. At the bottom left is an icon, a circle with the basic silhouette of a person's head and shoulders in it. Next to the icon is more text, reading: "Coulson, Phillip J." 

He's looking for a clue as to what he's supposed to do when the sound of screeching metal whips his attention to Steve and the filing cabinet. 

The man is holding the entire top drawer in one hand, sheepishly looking at Five, apparently having just  _ ripped _ the thing out. Interesting. However, the noise just moved their timeline up by a lot.

"Do you know how to use this thing?" He questions, gesturing to the computer. 

"Not even a little bit."

"Me either. We'll worry about it later. Let's get through these first." Five pulls the first folder out of the drawer still in Steve's hands and starts reading. The man sets it on the desk and reaches for the second one. 

Five has always been a fast reader, and it's even easier when he's scanning for key words rather than comprehension. He sets everything of potential importance in one pile, and tosses the rest in a heap on the floor, papers flying everywhere. He doesn't want the agents to immediately know what he was looking for when they investigate later. He wants to make this as hard on them as possible. 

Steve takes the hint this time, and begins going through his own drawer. They carry on like this through two more drawers before Steve abruptly stops. Five shoots him an inquisitive look, but Steve just motion for him to quiet and creeps toward the door. He presses his ear to the wood for a few seconds then whispers, "someone's coming." 

Five nods, and begins gathering up all the relevant folders. Steve hurries to do the same. 

"Do you know how to get out of here?" Five asks, as softly as he can. 

"Yeah, I got an idea. Follow me." 

As Steve opens the door and surveys the hall, Five glances back to the computer. If important documents really are stored in it… 

Well, Five's always been a fast learner. He can figure out how the thing works later, outside of the base. Quickly, he unplugs the cables from the power source, a giant brick of a thing underneath the desk, and tucks the computer under his arm. It's unfortunately cumbersome, but hopefully they don't run into anyone on the way out. 

He slots himself behind Steve, and on the man's signal, they rush out into the hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!   
> i think for the next chapter i'm going to have to cave and rewatch avengers.   
> sorry this took so long, but i am now a corporate professional (i got an internship), so, you know, responsibilities. hope you enjoyed! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I hoped you liked this :)
> 
> I definitely want to write more, and if anyone wants to join along it'd be more than welcome! 
> 
> (I also clearly know very little about a lot of things, but pseudoscience really is the best kind of science, huh?)


End file.
